Ch. 12: Honore L'Oeuf
It was a great thrill the following day, for that was the occasion in which Blanche introduced Alice to the famous Honore L'Oeuf. Blanche had always made a point of making love to as many authors as she could, particularly authors of children's books. She'd had sex with Cheval, the author of a book about eight young people in search of an elusive orgasm. He'd been very shy, she'd said - and his penis had been actually rather small. She'd also made love with Christophe Oiseau, the author of the Pooh books, but she'd not actually enjoyed being pissed on. Honore was a special conquest, Blanche maintained, and they were still very friendly.
Blanche left Honore and Alice talking in the garden, by a bench, where Honore sat: her breasts in real life if anything more fantastic than seen in a photograph. She had at least an 80 inch bust, and their weight forced them to hang down and obscure her vagina, which they almost touched when she sat down.
Honore lifted a breast up in her hands and held it out for Alice to see clearly. "This is the main reason I live in Brook", she explained. "I didn't always live here, but when I lived where clothes were much more the expected thing, I had enormous problems. I had to wear men's shirts designed for very fat men, but even then they couldn't hide my enormous breasts. The nipples would always struggle to escape. And so often, the buttons would pop and my breasts would flop out. It was so embarrassing! Here, I don't have to even try to hide them."
"Have you always had such titanic tits?" asked Alice.
"Not when I was a very young child, of course," Honore said smiling. "But even when I was your age, it was fairly obvious that I had monstrous mammaries. At first I thought they'd just reached full size much earlier than normal - but they just wouldn't stop growing. They just grew and grew! It got so that I had to spend days with my blouse fully open, simply because I couldn't button them up. Or I'd do the bottom button and the top button, and the breasts would just hang out between. So, it soon became obvious that I wasn't an ordinary girl."
"How did you start writing books?" wondered Alice, who wanted to move the subject away from breasts, although it was such a prominent and obvious subject.
"I've always loved sex. I love the feel of a penis. And I like the feel of a girl's body. It's so smooth. And so beautiful. Your body is one of the most beautiful."
"Thank you," said Alice, who glanced down at her own more modest chest, and the long hair which fell to her waist and brushed over her slender thighs and buttocks. "Why do you love sex so?"
"I just love the tenderness of making love. So it seemed natural to write stories about it. Of course, I invest into them as much of my own experience as possible. I just love having two or three people making love to me at once, and they just love to put my nipples into their mouth, or to rub their little crotches over them. I also watch them making love together or masturbating. And I listen to their stories of their own sexual encounters."
"Do you enjoy writing stories?"
"Of course. I always masturbate when I'm writing, and I know when my stories are particularly erotic by the amount of moistness they generate. If they're very erotic, I just have to break off in the middle of writing them, and push a banana up my crotch and feel its squelchy disintegration inside me, or to rub my breasts up and down the wall while I shove something hard and firm up me. But no masturbation - and I masturbate several times every day - can match the delight of sex with others."
